


Ruined Dreams.

by twistedmiracle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And fucking deal with this, But Harry's decided, Harry's a mess, It's totally Draco's fault, M/M, TM's drabbles, To pull himself together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: From the Death Eaters vs Aurors competition at http://dracoharry100.livejournal.com/Harry is swimming upstream a bit, now that Draco has left him. What comes next for the both of them?





	

Harry was at the sunlit café with Thomas when _he_ rambled by. It had been a long time. It had been ceaseless. They'd never parted.

"Hullo, Draco."

"I see you've moved on."

"You think?"

His Judas mind filled with Draco's arse, spread defenseless to Harry's tongue. He blinked and tried not to breathe Draco's come, not to drown in Draco's lost waist-length mane.

Only fifteen minutes ago he'd held Thomas' durable tape measure and wound it, rewound it; impatient to leave. He wrestled to replace one sense memory with another. 

"You've sheared your hair."

"Suppose I'll see you around."

"Yeah."

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

"You're just a glutton for punishment," Ron yelled.

"He never loved you," Hermione chided.

"I can do anything he did," Thomas begged, lengthening hair wisping from his new ponytail. "Take me back, let me try."

"Come over any time, mate," George offered. "I hate drinking alone, and your Thomas tells great jokes."

His new owl just glared and refused to offer his leg. "Queequeg," he sighed, "just take the damn letter or I'll hire a post owl."

Draco leaned against the doorframe: indolent, handsome. His mouth satisfied and cruel. "I can only stay a minute," he murmured. "Lorne is waiting."

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Helpless and miserable, Harry knelt. He _was_ a glutton for pain, he realized. He opened Draco's clubbing trousers. Pathetic.

He drew Draco's cock out, avoiding the zipper's teeth. Draco never wore pants with these trousers.

He was a wreck, he decided, breathing heat on Draco's gorgeous cock, watching it expand and take all the air from the room.

His knees already ached. Why had he installed a tiled entranceway, he wondered, as he licked Draco's pre-come.

Draco didn't even touch the top of Harry's head.

He was a mess. He needed to stop obsessing. Find someone hot _and_ nice.

Tomorrow.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Shame and envy consumed Harry as Draco's footsteps faded.

He breathed deep, then stood, dusting his knees.

What if Thomas was irritating and Draco was an exciting bastard? There were other men, handsome men, and he would find one. He would start something real, not fall right into bed. He could do this the right way. He could live without Draco's cock and his attitude and his beauty. And he could certainly live without the pain.

Harry headed for his closet. It was time to dress up nice and go out. But not to a nightclub. There were better ways.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

For once _The Quibbler_ hadn't steered Harry wrong. This open microphone/poetry reading looked promising, if those speculative looks were anything to go by. He ordered a mocha latte with extra cinnamon and claimed an empty table.

"May I?"

Broad-shouldered and dark, he wasn't Harry's usual, but his warm smile was dazzling, and Harry kicked out the other chair. 

"Please," Harry smiled. "Have you been before? M'not sure what to expect. I'm Harry, by the way."

"Wolodymyr," the Slavic looking wizard replied, and shook Harry's hand. He held on only slightly longer than necessary, and - smiling again - Harry let him.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Perhaps the best part of this, Harry speculated - watching Wolodymyr's thoroughly acceptable arse weave through tables toward two more coffees - was the multiple conversations it inspired.

Terrible poetry was an opportunity to learn about Wolodymyr's sense of humour. A folk singer with a capable command of her twelve string guitar opened a discussion on musical preferences. A moving prose poem about coming out encouraged their own revelations.

The warm lighting, lack of pounding electronica, drugs or even Firewhiskey meant he could see and hear.

And the sobriety enabled the creation of a calm façade when Lorne and Draco walked in.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

"A lovely surprise," Draco drawled. Lorne was grabbing two chairs. "We'll join you?"

Harry looked at Wolodymyr, who nodded. They stood. "Take the table. We're going." 

Wolodymyr stood just close enough. Draco's mask stayed cool, but Lorne's smile was warm and toothy.

"Their espresso is brilliant," Wolodymyr recommended. 

Harry aimed impulsively; felt his wand flicker, hidden in his sleeve. He spoke halfway over his shoulder, heading toward the street. "Enjoy your evening."

Draco didn't nod.

Wolodymyr leaned in, asking almost quietly enough: "should I have suggested hot chocolate with whipped cream? The blond looked too thin."

"It's intentional," Harry whispered.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Harry's mobile rang as they walked out. He pretended to consider, staring at the face. "Sorry Wolodymyr," he sighed. "I really must."

"Sure," Wolodymyr smiled, turning to the bills posted in the window.

Harry turned away, listening.

"— _so_ glad they've gone. I don't know why you're always nattering on about that one. What if he was some 'hero?' Doesn't make him tall, cute, or rich. Besides, when we're together you should pay attention to _me._ You're always saying we can't be exclusive, and that's fine, but—"

"Lorne. Shut up."

Harry closed his mobile. "Finite." Smiling, he turned back to Wolodymyr. "Sushi?"

 

 

Fin.


End file.
